Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As if someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—
It was Edgar Allan Poe, standing there, at my chamber door,
but then what could he be here for?
"Look, I think that you're mistaken, using verses you have taken,
or even stolen from The Raven—my famous poem of yore.
See, it is this foolish misuse, even on the verge of abuse
of my wondrous poem The Raven, which I do deplore.
Remove at once the verse, for its use I do deplore.
Or you will rhyme nevermore."
"Yes, I'm sorry Mr. Poe, but I must find a way to show
That I can write great poems filled with creativity and wit.
To my teacher and to my peers, this poem I can read without fear.
You see, I tried your verse, and it seemed to quite perfectly fit.
When trying your verse, I soon saw that it could perfectly fit,
And I will keep using it."
"There, another mistake you've made, so stop playing this dumb charade.
In the verses I had written, most lines end with the sound 'or.'
So, as I'm sure that you will find, you're scheme is not how my poem rhymed!
In each verse I had written, line number two, three, five, and four
Yes, I'm certain you heard me—I said at most and least four
lines must end with the sound 'or.'"
"Now listen to me Mr. Poe, I'll use the verse—I'll have you know
That in addition to your verse I've written much much more.
My project's due in the morrow, and I fully intend to borrow—"
"Despite your knowledge of the fact that your actions I deplore,
you still intend to enact these plans, plans which I do deplore
I curse thee forevermore.
"Wait, why are you leaving, after simply calling me 'thief?'
Umm, that didn't rhyme.
Lemme try again.
Wait, Mr. Poe, you can't this soon leave, simply calling me thieving.
I can't rhyme any more.
Come back here, Edgar, I need that—
Where are you going?
Is this the curse?
Couldn't you have just made a bird stand on my bust of Pallas or something?
Look, I have a bust of Pallas right here,
See, it seems perfect, right?
Or must I rhyme,